


Fishbowl

by KivaEmber



Series: Persona 5 Oneshots [6]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Delusions, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Maruki Bad End, Memory Loss, Mental Disintegration, Mildly Dubious Consent, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Psychological Horror, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26223124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: Goro wakes up in his apartment.And wakes up.And wakes up.And wakes up.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Persona 5 Oneshots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101845
Comments: 47
Kudos: 613
Collections: 21 plus akeshuake server events, Marigolds Discord Recs





	Fishbowl

_The day was perfect, because all days were perfect._

_Goro experienced this perfect day whilst seated on a bench along one of the paths that winded around Inokashira pond. As it was so **perfect** , the park was thick with people; couples hand-in-hand, families roaming as loud shrieking gangs of children and harried parents, groups of friends, heads leaning close together as they took selfies against the beautiful backdrop. _

_Goro hated it when it was this busy, so of course, the perfect day flexed a fraction: the loud shouts of children were oddly muted to his ear, no one directly walked in front of the bench he was at, no one looked at him, spoke to him, acknowledged him - a perfect bubble of isolation, tailored specifically for him._

_He was a ripple that met no others on the surface of this pond, theirs that contorted and moved around each other unnaturally, and on some days, Goro could almost see the wrinkles, the cracks and jagged edges of this paradise they were all trapped in. If he reached out, got his fingernails underneath, he could, maybe-_

_Goro stood up from the bench and took his phone out of his pocket. Over four missed calls from Akira, and twenty unread messages - also from Akira. Goro did not count the ones from the rest of the Phantom Thieves. What was the point in speaking to those empty-headed puppets? Their forgiveness was false and performative - an effort to not rock the boat, shallow emotions, fake fake fake **fakefake**. _

_Akira, though, was_

_a **traitor**_

_worth the effort, if only because he was the only other one who saw the jarring edges of this reality. Their ripples intersected, briefly, empathetically. They had days where they would sit in silence and dwell over the_

**_great betrayal_ **

_events that trapped them here. If only they had been more aggressive, if only they had been faster, if only Akira didn’t have a weak spine that crumpled the moment Maruki held the proverbial blade to Goro’s throat. If only, if only, if only._

_How agonising and humiliating it was, to play the part of hostage and_

**_give in_ **

_live out the consequences of Akira’s choices._

_The paradise flexed, but it could do nothing to make this day perfect for him. He lifted his gaze, to see how his surroundings bleached of sound and colour and sensation, the sunlight dappling over the surface of Inokashira Pond like the glittering exit of a hellish Palace._

_He couldn’t keep doing this._

_so._

_he left the messages unread._

_he tucked his phone into his pocket._

_he calmly walked forwards._

_he stepped over the low wooden railing separating the path from the pond_

_picked his way through the reeds_

_until his shoes sloshed in_

_murky water_

_and_

  
  
  
  
  
  


_...beep…_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_...beep...._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_...BEEP..._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP_ **

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

He stared at the ceiling for a good while; long enough that the alarm trilled itself into silence and the shadows crept across the walls of his room as the sun rose. He had a faint burn in his lungs, an aftertaste of silt and stagnant water in the back of his throat, and a dull, aching fatigue that weighed heavily on his limbs. The memory of yesterday was...

His phone’s notification light was blinking. Groggily, he picked it up, squinting against the backlight. There were three unread messages from Akira:

 **Sherlock+Watson  
****06:23am  
****Watson:** mornin  
**Watson:** you still sore from our bike race yesterday?

Goro exhaled roughly, forcing himself to sit up. The memory solidified in his loose grasp - bike ride, bike ride, bike ride- yes, that was right. Inokashira Park hadn’t been busy yesterday - a rarity in the summer, so it allowed them to go a little wild on their outing, making the day more perfectly tailored for them. They had raced, raced hard enough that his lungs and legs had burned, and… 

  
  
  


and  
  


_(who won again?_

_a tie, something whispered quietly in his mind_

_ah, right, of course...)_

**Watson:** bc i was thinking of going to kichijoji today if you want to join?

 **07:13am  
****Sherlock:** Yes, I would love to. 

**Watson:** oh!  
**Watson:** rare for you to be up at this time mr. ‘i am catching up on all my missed sleep this summer’.  
**Watson:** but since you’re up early, how about sometime after 10?   
**Watson:** that good?

 **Sherlock:** 10 is fine for me. See you then.

 **Watson:** see you sherlock ;)

* * *

The day was perfect, the trains were on time, and the crowds were light. 

Kichijoji tended to be lighter on foot traffic during the mornings and early afternoons, and the day was teasing towards sticky heat, chasing most people into the welcoming arms of air conditioned shops and cafes. Goro walked the familiar path to his usual spot near Penguin Sniper in a blank daze, not quite awake.

He hadn’t had any morning coffee yet - Akira normally brought a thermos of it for them to share if they met in the mornings like this - and the heat was burying him under a thick layer of drowsiness he couldn’t quite shake. He could see the heat rise up in shimmering waves off the street’s surface, and if he squinted he thought he could see the shimmer ripple the ground itself beneath people’s feet, flicks of liquid, an illusion trembling from too much interaction. 

If he knelt down and dug his fingers into the street, would he peel up a piece of Mementos or not? The urge came upon him so abruptly he almost succumbed to it without thinking - but he came to a halt in front of Stoneon instead and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He blinked, and it was just a heatwave, the ground was solid and real, but-

It was that feeling again. A sense of displacement, like the world was moving around him while he remained stationary. A disconnect so complete he felt as if he was a human-shaped void cut into this perfect day, insatiable and cold and empty, no matter how much warmth and happiness and perfection the day tipped into him. 

His reflection in Stoneon’s glassed storefront watched him with bright yellow eyes and said: 

_stop giving in_

“Mornin’.” 

Goro looked away from his reflection at Akira’s voice, an absent smile hitched up in place. 

“Good morning, Akira,” he said, accepting the thermos pressed into his hand without question. He cracked it open, the aroma of coffee smoothing down some of those jittery, uncertain feelings that kept rising more and more in his chest with each passing day in this 

_(hell)_

reality. 

Too many consecutive weeks of nothing going wrong; it left his paranoia anxiously digging holes. 

“Are you thinking of buying some jewellery?”

“Hm?” Goro sipped the coffee, making sure not to burn his tongue.

Akira tilted his head towards Stoneon’s storefront. In this heat, he was wearing a very loose button up shirt, the top two left undone to expose the column of his throat and a glimpse of his collarbones. His dark curls were already beginning to stick to his cheeks, pale cheeks flushed from the heat - but he didn’t seem overly discomforted about the sticky humidity. 

_(perfect day, after all)_

“You looked interested in something. Or,” Akira glanced back at him, his mouth curved into a wicked smile that echoed faintly of Joker, “are you admiring your reflection, Mr. Detective Prince?”

“Fuck off,” Goro said on automatic, “Someone around here needs to look neatly groomed, and it isn’t you.” 

“ _Ouch._ ”

The banter spiralled from there, following well-worn paths as they migrated to Penguin Sniper. They played darts. They played billiards. When they grew bored, they wandered the streets of Kichijoji - the heat drove them to a nearby ice cream stall where a break in the queue allowed them to nip in for a quick, shared ice cone. It was raspberry flavoured, tart on Goro’s tongue, and it fought off the heat that was crawling down his spine as beads of sweat. 

“Back to your place?” Akira said once the ice cone was depleted and tossed into the trash, “You have a fan, right?”

“One small fan, yes. We’ll have to sit on top of each other to both benefit.”

Akira smiled; “No complaints from me.” 

“It defeats the purpose,” Goro complained, but he let Akira lead them back to his apartment. 

The perfect day proceeded from there, as it always did. 

The same template. 

The same worn-out paths. 

The same day

over and over and 

_overoveroveroverover_

**_overoveroveroverover_ **

  
  
  


**_OVEROVEROVEROVER_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

He turned his alarm off and rolled onto his side to drift off back to sleep. He wasn’t ready for the fake reality just yet. 

A full length mirror was propped up against the wall opposite his bed, and with his cheek pressed against his pillow, one eye half-open to stare at his reflection, one heavy-lidded golden eye stared back. 

_stop giving in_

said the reflection. 

“I’m trying,” Goro said, his voice scratchy with sleep and exhaustion and too many other things to name, “I’m trying.” 

He went back to sleep.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

He turned his alarm off and rolled onto his side to drift off back to sleep. He wasn’t ready for the fake reality just yet. 

He dozed.

Eventually, he noticed his phone’s notification light blinking slowly. Goro picked it up between clumsily fingers and squinted against the backlight to see several missed calls and messages: 

**GA+AK  
** **07:59am**

**MISSED CALL [07:59]**

**AK:** waaaaake uuuup sleeping beauuuuty  
**AK:** did you seriously sleep all day yesterday?  
**AK:** goro!!!

**MISSED CALL [09:10]**

**09:34am  
****GA:** what  
**GA:** is it

**AK:** wow did you just wake up…  
**AK:** you okay?   
**AK:** your texts were weird yesterday

were they?

Goro flicked up through the chat:

( **01:23pm**

 **_GA:_ ** _im goin to_

**_GA:_ ** _catrch upon_

**_GA:_ ** _slep tiday_

**_GA:_ ** _im to_

**_GA:_ ** _ftired_

**_GA:_ ** _scared_

**_GA:_ ** _togo_

**_GA:_ ** _put_

**_GA:_ ** _agaim)_

“I must’ve been tired,” Goro mumbled, recalling none of it. 

**AK:** if you’re still tired  
**AK:** i can come round   
**AK:** with food!

 **GA:** Yes, feed me.

 **AK:** you’re such a glutton  
**AK:** kk, i’ll be there in an hour!

* * *

Goro managed to freshen up before Akira arrived: he showered, brushed his teeth, cleaned his strangely messy apartment, 

_(books thrown on floor,_

_coffee table upended,_

_sofa cushions scattered_

_across the apartment,_

_such a mess)_

washed his hands, changed the sheets of his bed and stuffed them into his too full laundry hamper, 

_(this shouldn’t be full i did this yesterday)_

_(no, the day before?)_

_(when was it)_

and hid said too full laundry basket in his closet just as Akira entered his apartment with a quiet greeting, like he belonged in his home,

_(didn’t he? he had a spare key after all)_

where he took off his shoes and teased Goro for still being in his pyjamas. They ate curry and drank coffee around the coffee table and somehow ended up in Goro’s bedroom 

_(where they ended up many times before)_

and

_whose perfect day was this right now?_

his, right?

It must be his, because Akira always gave him what he wanted in these moments. Goro, too emotionally flayed to articulate his desires, always wanted what Akira gave him. He wanted the mischievous kisses to his mouth, he wanted those familiar hands pushing him onto the bed, he wanted the calloused fingers to touch and scratch and grip and bruise, he wanted Akira to overwhelm and drive out every thought in his head until he could

stop _thinking_

and _stop_

and _stop_

and

in the middle of it all, 

breaths stuttering in his throat, 

catching on strained exhales of 

_“‘kira...!”_

and the full-length mirror propped against the wall took a snapshot of the tableau. 

Of

goro pressed face down, 

white-knuckled grip on the sheets

golden eyes bright in his reflection and

_stop giving in stop giving in_

he’s trying! _he’s trying!_

and Akira would gasp something in his ear, chest against his back, overwhelming and Goro would tremble and bury his face into his pillow and choke out his name and cry and

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

He wasn’t alone this time. Akira grumbled something unintelligible as he turned the alarm off for him, a low sigh of _“why’s your alarm so early…”_ that went unanswered. His curtains were slightly open, and Goro watched the thin line of sunlight creep higher and higher along the length of his bed, sliding over rumpled sheets and their legs tangled together, the scent of musk and sweat lingering. 

Akira had gone back to sleep, his forehead pressed against Goro’s clavicle, breaths warm and slow against his skin. The sticky heat of summer hadn’t yet crept into the apartment, so it was fine to be this close, Goro giving into temptation and letting his hand rest against the nape of Akira’s neck, burying his nose into his messy, curly hair. 

It was a perfect morning. 

Yet.

Goro glanced at the mirror. 

* * *

Eventually, it got too hot to stay and Akira woke up with whiny groans. Goro pushed him out of bed and used the ensuing confusion of his betrayed flailing to dart into the shower first. Akira valiantly protested this cheating through the bathroom door for about a minute before he ambled off to make them a late breakfast.

Goro scrubbed off the evidence of last night. Or, most of it. 

His bathroom was small, and it was easy enough to turn his head and see the sink mirror from within the shower stall. Condensation clung to the surface, beads of water cutting lines through it, but Goro could still make out the bruises on his skin, the shallow bite marks. He pressed his fingers against each one, feeling the dull ache of pain flare and felt… 

It had been a temporary respite, last night, and the morning after always gave him a heavy, gnawing feeling deep in his belly. He couldn’t trust any of it, really. Whose perfect day was it, last night? Who was being compelled by Paradise to open their heart and legs to the other? 

Goro wanted Akira - he wanted him viscerally, to dig his fingers into his ribcage and snap the sternum apart, to bury himself in the viscera behind his heart and meld into his spine so Akira will carry him with him always. It was a want that was illegal and selfish and crazed, that no one but him could fully comprehend. It was a want that bubbled up in his throat like tar and left the taste of metal in his mouth. 

But last night had been soft and comfortable and well worn. Domestic. A bit of roughness with fingernails breaking skin and sharp teeth, of Akira pushing him until Goro’s mind spun apart into useless grey matter - but it was a normal want. The sort that could stay in the safe, understandable lines of Paradise and its perfect days. 

_(can’t even trust your own cognition_

golden eyes blinked back at him, blurry in the steamed mirror

_but it’s less frightening to turn a blind eye_

_and give in_

_isn’t it?)_

Goro’s vision was fuzzing around the edges. Belatedly, he realised he was clenching his throat with a trembling hand, thumb pressing hard into his carotid artery, the pulse thumping hard and frantic against the pressure. 

_(you're losing yourself,_

said his reflection,

 _you’re dying_ )

Slowly. 

he 

let 

  
  
  


  
go.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He finished his shower. 

* * *

Goro had enough food in his kitchen for Akira to make omelettes. This was news to him, as he couldn’t recall the last time he actually went grocery shopping. 

_(but his fridge was near full, so maybe he had done so recently?_

_or akira did?_

_he couldn’t remember.)_

“I made those omelettes to be eaten, not to be stared at.”

Goro stirred out of the heavy apathy he found himself in, and obediently dug into his breakfast. Ham, cheese and bell peppers, which was a strange thing for Goro to stock since his culinary skills never surpassed sticking instant meals in a microwave. 

“Hey,” Akira murmured, breaking the strange silence that lapsed between them when they sat at the kotatsu. His hair was still damp from the shower, the curls somewhat tamed as he levelled an intense gaze Goro’s way, “Are you okay?”

_(no)_

“Hm,” Goro swallowed his mouthful, not quite meeting Akira’s eyes; “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” Akira paused, and for a moment, reality went 

  
  
  


lopsided. 

  
  
  
  
  


Goro’s eyes shifted from Akira’s chin to somewhere past his shoulder to see 

the edges of his apartment tremble. 

that odd, 

wavering quality that heralded a safe room, 

of the metaverse’s distortions 

not quite hooked in deep enough, 

paradise’s skin sloughing off,

“Never mind,” Akira said _(everything snapped back into place in the span of a blink),_ “I’m probably just imagining it.” 

Goro said nothing for a long moment. 

_(spineless coward_ )

“Yes,” he said, “you are.”

The rest of the omelette tasted of nothing.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

He was lying on his bedroom floor, a dull headache thumping between his temples as his alarm trilled into silence somewhere above him - bedside table. His limbs felt stiff and awkward when he sat up, scraping the very bottom of his raw barrel for the energy to crawl those precious few feet onto his bed. 

His fumbling hand grabbed his phone on his way up, and he clutched it tight to his chest as he unscrambled his thoughts. 

He did not wonder why he’d been on the floor. 

didn’t matter.

“I’m so tired of this,” he whispered.

His room didn’t answer - the quiet suddenly felt too damning, oppressive - and he turned his attention to his phone. Missed messages. Missed phone calls. Where did the time go? These were - yesterday? From Akira, but he had been _with_ Akira all day yesterday- 

_(he stayed the night, or, was that the day before?_

_no we went to kichijoji_

_no that had been- before that_

_the days were, blurring-)_

He must’ve left and then - tried to call?

Goro opened the messages. 

**Akira+Goro  
****Yesterday: 11:36pm  
****Akira:** sorry for the late msg i forgot to say  
**Akira:** party tomorrow at Leblanc!  
**Akira:** to celebrate **-̨̯͓͍̞͍ͧͮ̏͂ͬ̓͊͛ͦͨ́-̶̡̰͚̺̳͍͔̯̙̝͖̞̣͓͖ͤͯ̋͌ͮ̎ͮ̂̇ͦ͆̇ͦͅ-̛̞̠͈̼͉̟ͣ͗̂̌̅͋ͬ̐͗͐͒̈́͊ͧͩ̾̄͐-͗̄̈̇̍̊̇ͯ̎͐̀̓͐̽͒͗̈́҉̵̶̖͎͕̫͚̰͎͖̹͇̜͖͇͈͞͞ͅ-̴̢̻̲̙̖̻̺̙ͭͪ͌͆ͬͮ́͟͠-̴̷̨̥̥̖̗̣̥̦̼̩̭̺̺̭̦̔͑͑̑̒ͯ̾͂̔̐͑̽̍̇͛ͤ͆-̓̐̆͋ͤ̊̐͒̈́͂ͦ҉̣̺͎̯̟͙̞ͅ-̡̨̣̣̥̬̬̹̰͓̞̯̮͚̞̥͐̂̀͊ͥ͑̋̏̊̉̅ͤͮ̈ͥ̐͢͝ͅ-̷̾̍̆ͯͭ̔ͭ͑̅̇͑͐̽͒ͨ͠͝͠͏̦̝̰̼̳͖̣̪̳̤̖͇͉͔̤ͅͅ”**

_(goro’s eyes slid unseeingly over the word,_

_it didn’t matter)_

**Akira:** can you get here before lunch?   
**Akira:** try not to sleep in too late lol

**9:35am  
****Goro:** ok  
**Goro:** anything important to bring?

**Akira:** good morning, sleepyhead!  
**Akira:** nah, only present I need is yourself ;)  
**Akira:** see you soon!

A party in Leblanc… 

Goro was overcome with a sudden rush of nausea, an alien fear that made him want to peel off his skin at the thought of: go to Leblanc, see the rest of the Phantom Thieves, and inevitably, see the Dead Woman. With Akira, the mask could slip and collapse at his feet and it would be Allowed, but with the others present:

Invisible fishing wires, throttling his limbs and throat, compelling him to keep things _palatable_. There is no challenging the new, oppressive status quo, and whenever the courage to reared its head, his reality would-

Akira would _look_ at him, in that way, that said _'please don't, Goro, please don't-'_

His reality would-

Already, his grasp on what _happened_ was tenuous. The Dead Woman, a regular at Leblanc, grinding her heel into the rotten beginnings of his sordid past as Shido's dog. Instead of killing her in this reality, he _saved her,_ some formless danger (herself?? Her palace??), but it was a **_lie_**! He killed her. He _had_ killed her, in another reality, in his true _past,_ it was there in his fucking _memories_ -

_(but that was no longer the truth, he no longer had_

_no harm no foul so all is forgiven_

_it was the truth he killed her he did he did he did_

**_I KILLED HER I REMEMBER IT_ ** _)_

“Why, why, why,” Goro whined, pressing his phone against his forehead and grinding it there, breathing stuttering in his chest. He can say no - he should, but Akira will ask _why,_ and 

how would the perfect day flex around that? 

There was always a lingering, primal terror, that somehow his own thoughts would be warped here if he resisted too much. That he will, just, do _things_ because that was what Paradise wanted, what Akira wanted, but never what _he_ wanted - unless, he _did_ want it, subconsciously-?

 _(he couldn’t tell anymore)_

He was scared, so scared that the longer he stayed, the more he’ll die. This false reality was eating him alive, gouging bloodied chunks out of him to make way for 

Akechi Goro, 

_friend of Akira_ , 

_Phantom Thief, Crow,_

Killing:

Akechi Goro, 

**Black Mask** , 

**Murderer** , 

_Detective Prince_ , 

~~Unwanted Orphan~~.

But

it was already happening, wasn’t it? 

Hadn’t he already 

twisted and 

crushed and 

**distorted** himself, 

to fit into the role Akira designated him? 

_say no, say no, say no, say no,_ something was snarling at him, rattling the bars in his mind - draw this line right here. Draw it now. Rip some agency back, do it now. Say no, _say NO._ I do not want to go to Leblanc, I do not want to play this game anymore, I do not want to be here anymore, Akira, Akira, _akira, please, god, please, listen to me, **listen,** don’t accept, don’t accept_\-   
  
  
  
  
  
  


despite the shaking of his hands, and

the sour fear in his throat

Goro crawled out of bed, showered, dressed, and went.

* * *

The journey to Leblanc felt like travelling through Mementos. Goro could see the crimson streaks of light on the train, the shuffling lumps of Shadows crammed into the carriage with the humans; he saw one Shadow, formless but vaguely shaped as a man staring at him with bright yellow eyes. Goro stared back. 

_(his reflection gazed at him, yellow eyes condemning)_

Squeal of brakes. Grinding hiss of a train slowing - the shriek of metal when it flies off the tracks-

No, that hadn’t happened.

 _(April 10th,  
__target Tanji Sho,  
__conductor for the_ _Tokyu Den-en-toshi Line,  
__on the train for_ _Chūō-Rinkan Station,  
__at the time-_

_“Yes, sir.”)_

Yes, it had happened.

_(he had to believe that it had happened_

_if he didn’t,_

_if he denied the past was **his** past,_

_then)_

But this train did not fly off the tracks and instead arrived at Yongen-Jaya with little fanfare. Goro allowed the flow of shuffling Shadows to pull him out of the train doors, his feet automatically leading him from the station and through the winding backstreets. The sun was out in full force today, but without the usual summer humidity it encouraged people to wander, dressed down in t-shirts and shorts. 

A blink and he could see the bones of Mementos choked with pulsating tentacles jutting upwards between the cramped buildings of Yongen-jaya. In the corner of his eye, he could see the ground ripple, flecks of blood and liquid chasing at heels. The air smelled of ozone, like the too short eternity before a Palace crumpled in on itself- 

But he blinked, and Yongen-jaya was Yongen-jaya, and he was in front of Leblanc. 

Goro had that displaced feeling again. 

_i’m not really here,_ he told his reflection in the glass door, those scorching yellow eyes staring at him accusingly, _i’m going through the motions._

_(it’s because you’ve given up,_

his reflection said)

“Yeah,” Goro replied, and he opened the door and stepped into his own private hell. 

* * *

The day proceeded as a fever dream. 

He was _there,_ but not there. He felt like he was in a play, safely spectating from the wings and waiting for his cue to swan onto the stage, all bright-eyed and bursting with theatric enthusiasm, playing his harmless, redeemed role to the hilt - and he delivered. 

Yes. 

He delivered. 

He was _Akechi Goro_! 

So sweet and happy, now that Maruki had taken an eraser and wiped away all the horrible, awful things that built the foundations of himself. Without the pain of his worthless life weighing him down, he was palatable and approachable, and even his cutting wit was viewed with affectionate exasperation than offence. He could envision the printed words of this scene: 

**INT. LEBLANC - DAY**

[ **AKECHI GORO neatly inserts himself within the dynamic of the Phantom Thieves, as if he never was a backstabbing traitor with too hungry eyes on a lofty altar he could never hope to grasp, let alone tear down from the heavens.** **He is now harmless, and gentle, his lambskin sewn into his skin and his wolven jaws muzzled so tight all he could taste was copper. He wants to scream but he can’t.**

**AKECHI enters stage right, joining the Phantom Thieves in Leblanc.**

**Everyone says hello.]**

_[KURUSU AKIRA still lives in Leblanc and is already there, the lovesick boy whose singular wish was for AKECHI GORO to return - not to be free or happy or himself, but simply returned. It was a selfish wish and one that shackled him, but everyone loved KURUSU AKIRA, even if he chose to be selfish at the wrong moment._ _His eyes always sought AKECHI GORO out, because he is lovesick and greedy, so much so that his lambskin is slipping off his shoulders._

_AKIRA enters stage left, joining the Phantom Thieves in Leblanc._

_The hungry wolf prowls amongst the ignorant sheep, watching.]_

**_AKIRA  
_** _Honey, you’re home!_

_AKECHI pauses by the doorway. He appears exasperated by the greeting._

**_AKECHI  
_** _That joke’s wearing thin, Akira._

_Just then, SAKAMOTO RYUJI looks over the back of the booth to grin at AKECHI. There is friendly mischief in his expression._

**_RYUJI  
_** _Look who’s finally here! Akira was gettin’ ready to drag you outta bed._

_NIIJIMA MAKOTO looks up from her reading to pin AKECHI with a small frown._

**_MAKOTO  
_** _You’ve been sleeping in a lot, Akechi. Is everything alright?_

 **_AKECHI  
_** _I’m fine. Just indulging, now that my time is freed up._

_The friendly banter continues. AKECHI takes his seat on the stool, farthest from everyone else. SAKURA SOJIRO brews his coffee without needing to be asked. The PHANTOM THIEVES all return to their earlier discussions. AKIRA sits on the stool next to AKECHI with a teasing smile._

**_AKIRA  
_** _I can’t believe the great Akechi Goro has gotten so lazy._

_AKECHI does not reply. He pushes AKIRA’s shoulder instead, as if to overbalance him from his seat._

**_AKIRA  
_** _Hey!_

_AKIRA rebalances himself._

**_AKIRA  
_** _Someone’s grumpy. Didn’t sleep well?_

 **_AKECHI  
_** _I slept fine._

_It is a lie, of course. AKECHI is very good at those._

**_AKECHI  
_** _I’m just tired._

_This was not a lie._

**_AKIRA  
_** _Still?_

_There is a pause. Deviating from the script, AKIRA leans_

in and gently tapped Goro’s cheek, just shy of the corner of his eye, “You sure you’re alright? Your eyebags have eyebags.”

Goro blinked, off-kilter. It took him a few seconds too long to nudge Akira’s hand away.

“I said I’m fine,” he said, allowing a bit of irritability to seep into his tone, grasping for - a lie, a lie, come on; “I think- I’m coming down with a summer cold.”

Akira scrutinised him for a moment, brushing back Goro's fringe to press the back of his hand against his forehead. His fingers felt freezing cold.

"Yeah, maybe," Akira said doubtfully, but let the lie take seed and grow, "Actually, yeah, makes sense. If you want to take a nap upstairs, just say."

Goro waved him off; “You don’t need to mother me.”

“I’m not mothering you, I just like taking care of you.”

“Alright, lovebirds,” Sojiro intruded on their brewing disagreement, setting the coffee in front of Goro, “Akira, I think he’s grown up enough to know his limits. Right?”

“Mm,” Goro said vaguely, curling his gloved hands around the cup and letting the heat seep through, “Yes, of course.”

“Goro doesn’t have limits,” Akira muttered _sotto voce,_ “He’s a ‘set the house on fire to keep yourself warm’ kind of guy.”

“‘He’ can hear you,” Goro grumbled back, but there was no heat in his voice. 

Akira said nothing. He was watching him with an unusual focus, like he was trying to pick through Goro’s impeccable carapace to see the soft parts inside. He ignored him, perturbed at this deviation from a well-worn script. What was Akira doing? They’re all pretending for _his_ happiness, so why is _he_ acting so dissatisfied?! 

His hands tightened around his cup, imaged crushing it and letting the scalding water spurt over his gloved fingers and sharp china cut into his palms and- 

“Goro,” Akira started,

_beep..._

“What,” Goro heard himself say. 

_beepbeep..._

Akira’s fingers touched the back of his hand. 

_beepbeepbeep…_

“Why are your hands shaking?”

“I-”

**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

_wait_

this isn’t right?

“I was… Leblanc?” he muttered, groggy and confused - or had he dreamt that? 

There was no morning sunlight filtering through his window, despite the alarm. His room was pitch black, the dead of night, an unnatural, chilly silence hanging in the air. There was no quiet gurgle of the water pipes. There was no rumble of traffic outside. The neighbour who watched television into the late night was silent. 

His breathing puffed out in a visible cloud of white. There was a high-pitched ringing screaming on the edges of his hearing. 

_(where is_

_everyone?)_

His arms felt awkward and sluggish as he frantically groped at his bedside table, numbed fingers clumsily catching his phone. The plastic casing felt frozen, the backlight painfully bright when he fumbled unlock the screen to show the date and weather app:

 **(XX:XX  
** **XX - XX - 20XX?????  
** **CANNOT DETERMINE LOCATION)**

His location-?

The phone slipped from his fingers, dully hitting the bed as he sat up-

 _“Hrk!”_

-only to be slammed back down with _crushing_ force.

Goro felt: the shock of pain lancing through his ribcage, taste of blood in his mouth and the burning, radiating agony of a round shattering his sternum. He felt clawed hands squeezing his ribcage, Loki’s towering form folded over him, crimson fangs stretched into a rictus grin, terrifyingly out of place in the mundane backdrop of his apartment-

but not in his apartment, 

because noise was rushing through now:

the groaning of a collapsing, 

sinking ship and

the klaxon alarm before the bulwark doors closed

seawater

copper

the splintered remains of his rib cage

fragments of bone

in soft tissue

He was there and there, apartment - shido’s ship - loki crushing the life out of him - loki dragging him from the murky depths of a sunken ship - and it was cold cold cold cold _freezing cold dying cold_

He could do nothing, dazed and wheezing as his Persona loomed over him. The bed creaked from the strain of Loki’s weight, the ship screamed as it was torn apart, loki’s hand was squeezing his throat, loki’s hands applied pressure, stemming the blood flow, goro was weak and could not move again, useless and helpless and-

_dying dying dying dying again_

the grey swirl of metal blossomed behind Loki’s horned head. 

_(ship_.)

 _“loki”_

he gasped

the dapple of street-light

catching the angled lines of its body

_(no- the apartment?)_

**WHY ARE YOU GIVING UP?**

loki demanded,

goro gasped, hands pathetically

clawing for his persona’s arm,

relentless pressure on 

_~~windpipechestleashgunshotwound~~ _

“ _loki, help-_ ”

**WHY ARE YOU LETTING YOURSELF DIE?**

loki’s weight crushed down more

the red fangs parting, glimpse of gold,

**DO YOU TRULY WISH TO BE CONTROLLED?**

fuck, he can’t

goro’s eyes and face burned,

**ANSWER ME!**

the boiling, blistering, searing agony of

a bloodied mask, begging to be torn free:

**FIGHT BACK!**

and its jaws opened wide,

**FIGHT BACK!!**

a glaring golden eye,

**FIGHT BACK!!!**

nestled in the empty void inside,

**_FIGHT BACK!!!_ **  
  
  
  
  
  


and goro

_(crunching of wet gristle as-!)_

and loki

**_(stop stop stop)_ **

_CLAWED_

_(the persona’s mask sloughed off-!)_

_INSIDE_

_(and the golden-eyed monster hidden inside burst free-!)_

**_HIM_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


_(goro screamed)_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Goro woke up screaming in his apartment. 

He tumbled out of bed before he was consciously aware, scrambling into the corner, hands shaking, nerves twitching from lingering pain and lungs burning from too-little air - back to wall, nowhere to go, but feet still uselessly pushing against the carpet until exhaustion hit him and he slumped to a halt, shivering like a petrified prey animal, waiting, waiting, _waiting._  
  
  
  
  


The room was brightly lit. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There was no Loki. 

“ _Fuck,”_ he choked, heart stuck in his burning throat, fingers twitching for a weapon that wasn’t there, “Fuck, _fuck,_ _what the **fuck**?!”_

_( **fight back** )_

“Stop, stop, it’s fine, it’s _fine,_ dream, just a dream,” he rasped, shakily getting to his feet - and violently recoiled when he caught sight of his reflection in his vanity desk mirror - _yellow eyes_ -

He slammed the mirror down in a blind panic - _crunch_ , glass - and backed away, jumping when his leg hit the bed, lashing out at an enemy that wasn’t there, fuck- what the _fuck_ -

_(breathe, breathe, stop acting **crazy**_

_but i am, aren’t i? I just dreamed that loki just_

_was that even a dream?!_

_it was too real, too real, it hurt, **it hurt so much** )_

Goro made himself stand still, chest heaving as he struggled to control himself. His mind felt its clearest in- in- in??? How long had it been, since he had this sort of crystal-like clarity? It was as if he’d clawed himself free from blinding mud, thoughts razor sharp and blood fizzing with battle-instinct, vision focused, muscles taut with the desire to _kill it, kill it before it hurts me kill it kill it_

His throat hurt.

No, it- ached. A taut pain that radiated from his windpipe to the underside of his jaw, muscles too bruised to swallow and breathing strained and high-pitched. He thought: Loki, in the dark, clawed hands gently curling around his throat and prising the leash free-

 _It was a **dream.**_

Yet, tentatively, he crept back to the mirror he had slammed down. He lifted it with clumsy fingers, just enough to see his throat between the spiderweb cracks in the glass, not daring to see his own eyes. 

His neck was a ring of bruises, perfect imprints of Loki’s claws. 

Goro lowered the mirror gently.

the false reality cracked. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Goro came back to himself curled up on his bed.

He was trembling, tucked into a protective ball with his hands close to his face, phone clasped tight between them as if it was some holy object that could ward off the demon his Persona had apparently become. There was a vague sense of foreboding crushing him, a growing unease that told him _danger danger danger is coming danger danger danger is coming_ -

Not even the bright afternoon sun could chase the bone-deep chill of fear rooting him to the spot. He was utterly alone, the muted noises of the outside world filtering through his open window sounding so distant they may as well not exist. His gaze was fixed on his mirror, at his own reflection staring right back with the same, intense focus he levelled on his targets.

After an eternity, he checked his phone. 

There was a single missed call and a few messages from Akira. When he tentatively checked: 

**3:30pm  
****Akira:** you feeling any better?  
**Akira:** you looked kinda faint when you left earlier  
**Akira:** i saved you some food from the party   
**Akira:** in case you want it later  
**Akira:** remember to take cold medicine!

**MISSED CALL [3:45pm]**

**Akira:** are you still asleep?

Goro’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, breathing audibly stuttering in his throat. It still hurt, to breathe, to swallow, and he wondered if he checked if the bruises would still be around his neck. Had it been long enough to fade- no, it was still the same day, if, the party - same day? How… no, it shouldn’t be. The party was real?

He didn’t remember leaving. When had Loki visited him? One or the other happened, not both, but they did, they _did,_ the party, travelling to Leblanc (his memories disintegrating like powdery ash when he tried to recall: _when did i leave, why did i, why can’t i remember, why can’t i- what’s happening to me!?)_ , Loki lurching with murderous intent from the black turmoil of his heart like a bloated corpse in stagnant water.

fuck.

 _akira,_ he thought hysterically, _my persona just tried to kill me._

 _akira,_ he thought despairingly, _my persona just tried to kill me!_

 _akira,_ he realised numbly, _my persona just tried to kill me..._

He couldn’t make himself type it. 

He just dreamt it, didn’t he?

_(but the bruises…)_

No, no, it was a dream, he didn’t want to- it wasn’t a sign that he wanted to-!

_(i’m not like mother!)_

“I don’t want to die,” he rasped, his voice too scratchy and weak, “I don’t, I _don’t_ …”

 _(but, if my Persona tried to kill me…?_ )

“I just want to _escape,_ ” he insisted, to who? Who was he trying to convince???

“I want to _escape,_ ” he repeated. 

The sense of foreboding crept closer.

**_(fight back)_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

Someone was loudly knocking on his door. 

He staggered upright before he was consciously aware, breaths rasping in his throat. In his reflection there were no bruises around his neck, but it still hurt. He stared dazedly at his unmarred throat, until the knocking started up again and he lurched into action, not bothering to get changed out of his pyjamas before answering the door.

Akira stood on his doorstep, a tupperware of curry in one hand and a thermos awkwardly tucked into the crook of his elbow, his foot retreating from where it had been rhythmically kicking the door.

“Hi,” Akira said cheerfully.

Goro stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“It’s… been a while,” he said blankly. The visit to Leblanc felt like it had been an eternity ago. It must’ve been a few days at least.

Akira laughed and gently nudged Goro aside, letting himself inside, “I saw you this morning at Leblanc, remember?” 

Goro closed his front door and looked at his window. Past the opened curtains he could see the glow of streetlights. It was night. 

_(pitch black. silent. night.)_

Goro’s heart began to pound, his eyes darting to the shadows of his apartment.

No Loki.

_(yet)_

Akira bustled about, oblivious to the nauseous fear curdling Goro’s blood. The lively activity he brought to his otherwise silent apartment slowly coaxed Goro from his rigid position next to his front door, migrating to his living room’s kotatsu in an empty-minded state. He was a passive observer to his own body, hands shaking, heart pounding a frantic tattoo against his broken sternum, yet calm, very calm. He had a role to play in the upcoming pantomime.

He sat at the kotatsu. He could see his yellow-eyed reflection in the dark, inert screen of the television. Akira eventually sat across from him, portioning out the curry and the coffee to him, flashing him a concerned but warm smile. 

Goro’s yellow-eyed reflection continued to observe

 _(just behind akira)_

and his focus veered dazedly between it and his guest. He ate automatically, sipped comfortably hot coffee, soothing his aching throat, let Akira lull him into a mundane and pointless conversation: 

_(the yellow eyes looked from akira to him and back to akira and)_

“It’s almost the end of the summer holidays now.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re eager to return to Shujin.”

“Eager isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Do you not enjoy your school life, Akira?”

“More like I’m used to having so much free time.”

“Akira,” Goro said, breaking the performative conversation in an abrupt moment of lucidity; “I think I’m going crazy.”

The conversation stalled. 

Akira looked a bit wrongfooted at the script being upended. 

But Goro was chafing in this role. He was a cut open void that was never satisfied- 

_no_

He was a nail that needed to be hammered down. 

A nail that the false reality hammered and hammered and hammered, striking with increasing, brutal force the longer he resisted. Now he was breaking, _breaking,_ **breaking,** and that was what the dream _meant,_ he realised. Loki understood, Loki was _him_ and it understood that giving up didn’t just mean succumbing to a false paradise; it meant being shattered and crushed into unrecognisable dust. It meant dying in the most permanent, horrific way possible. 

_remember sumire?_ something rotten purred in his mind, _remember sumire? remember her? because she doesn’t anymore! that’s what’s happening to you! carving out the parts that don’t fit - which is everything. you’re dying! you're dying! you're **DYING!**_

There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

( _why have you given up? fight back!_ )

In his mind, unbidden, he remembered the taste of blood in his mouth, the agony of helpless rage when he looked at Joker caving in, his spine crumbling at the idea of Goro dying, unknowing that he just signed his death warrant there and then. Goro was a _nail_ to be hammered down, and the false reality was CRUSHING AND CRUSHING

“Crazy?” Akira said, in a stilted tone.

“I’m unhappy,” Goro said, “In this reality.” 

Akira stared at him. Goro could see the cognitive wheels spin behind those grey eyes, the thought - unhappy? Impossible. Akira gave up everything, their freedom and choices and reality, just so Goro could be alive and happy. The conclusion was something was lacking in this reality, and Goro wondered how the paradise would flex - how would it adjust to this? How could it? 

There was nothing it could give him. 

no way out. 

The reflection behind Akira shook its head and grasped at its throat, its gaze fixed on Akira and- 

_(oh, maybe it was that simple?)_

“Is there something missing?” Akira asked very quietly. 

“Yes.”

_“ **Yes**.”_

_(who’s voice said that?)_

“I need 

**-̨̯͓͍̞͍ͧͮ̏͂ͬ̓͊͛ͦͨ́-̶̡̰͚̺̳͍͔̯̙̝͖̞̣͓͖ͤͯ̋͌ͮ̎ͮ̂̇ͦ͆̇ͦͅ-̛̞̠͈̼͉̟ͣ͗̂̌̅͋ͬ̐͗͐͒̈́͊ͧͩ̾̄͐-͗̄̈̇̍̊̇ͯ̎͐̀̓͐̽͒͗̈́҉̵̶̖͎͕̫͚̰͎͖̹͇̜͖͇͈͞͞ͅ-̴̢̻̲̙̖̻̺̙ͭͪ͌͆ͬͮ́͟͠-̴̷̨̥̥̖̗̣̥̦̼̩̭̺̺̭̦̔͑͑̑̒ͯ̾͂̔̐͑̽̍̇͛ͤ͆-̓̐̆͋ͤ̊̐͒̈́͂ͦ҉̣̺͎̯̟͙̞ͅ-̡̨̣̣̥̬̬̹̰͓̞̯̮͚̞̥͐̂̀͊ͥ͑̋̏̊̉̅ͤͮ̈ͥ̐͢͝ͅ-̷̾̍̆ͯͭ̔ͭ͑̅̇͑͐̽͒ͨ͠͝͠͏̦̝̰̼̳͖̣̪̳̤̖͇͉͔̤ͅͅ”**  
  
  


It _was_ simple. Goro stood up without a word and Akira got up too and followed him as he walked to the kitchen and it was 

_so so so so so so so so so so so simple_

he could see the crack in the paradise again and the way out was _through_ Akira, in the end, because it was _always Akira._ Always him, always them both, the moment they met, their fates ensnared and tangled in barbed wire and it was a sunburst of absolute clarity, and on its heels came jubilation because _he can free them both and_   
  


goro pulled open his drawer and took out the

**f҉͏̡̥̹̲̫͓̬͘į̴̶̬̩̝̻̥̟̜̦͍̫͎͝ͅ-̺̻̦̰̖̜̪͚̤̬̙̩̭̠͙̯͍̩͗͌͒̌̾͐̃͗̋ͤ̾̅̑ͨ̓ͮ̍͡͠-̟̮͎̟͎̺͚̗̍͗́ͩ̊ͥͮ́̇̀ͪ̚̕͢** **t̺͈̬͙͚͎͖͔ͤ̃́ͣͣ̍̂̀̐͐͂͠͝ͅ** **̶̠̜̣̻͇͔̑ͮ̇ͩͩ̑̀ͨ̌̋̊͐̋ͯ̇͆͆͋͜͠͠**

and

  
  
  
  


they ended up near the kotatsu again 

and his 

reflection watched

  
  


every rise of the 

**F̶̗͈̝̦͕͍́̇̐͛͘͜Iͥ̈̔͊̋ͦ͒̽ͨ̌̔͗ͥ̉҉̪̣̟̲̫̣̞͎̮̝͙̣̝̖͠͠͞Ģ͊ͦ̑ͨ̋ͪ̎̾ͤ̽ͨ͒͠͏͖̟̜͖͍̯̺̜̻̮̝̤̲͚͎̝̖̟͍͘H̢͚͙͙̭̼̠̠̼͚͉̙͈͇̥̝̣̞̣̔̎̎ͩ͌͛ͭ̓̏̂̓ͧ͞T̠̣̰̠͈̩̱̳̤̘̩͇͌ͨ̊͌̿ͭ̇ͤͥ͌̒͆̕͟͡** **,**

an arc of red, 

on his face, 

on his reflection 

  
  
  
  
  


until

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP_ **

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

He lunged out of bed without touching his phone, stumbling to his mirror and seeing - wild bed hair, crazed golden eyes, clean, pyjamas, no blood, nothing to say he just _murdered Akira_

_dream, it had to be-!_

**_IT’S JUST A DREAM._ **

“Fuck, _fuck,”_ Goro rasped, digging his fingernails into his cheeks and trying not to break the skin. Red appeared under his fingertips anyway, sticky and hot, raw like the marred skin when the mask was ripped off. What day was it? Was it still the same day? What _day was it!?_

_i don’t remember_

He looked outside the window. 

It was dark. 

_night?_

**_“_ ** **I saw you this morning at Leblanc, remember? _”_**

Goro’s heart tripled in speed, wondering if that had been prophetic. He went to his closet, to grab something- 

A bag tumbled out - something from, Harajuku? An outing from, some days 

( _weeks?_ ) 

ago, landing on its side and spilling out his Phoenix Ranger pyjamas stiff with reddish brown stains and oh he was wearing that yesterday, 

_(today, tomorrow?)_

but it was dirty- 

_that’s blood._

Goro stuffed it back into the closet, his mind screaming on nothing, and barely remembered going back to his bed. His phone was there and he picked it up. There were messages and a missed call from Akira. 

_he’s still alive?_

_akira im going crazy im going crazy im going crazy_

he did not type as he replied to akira’s hello and concerned question on leaving the party at leblanc early today 

( _so it was still today?_

_even though - that must’ve been yesterday?_

_fuck im losing it i am i am_

and he said 

_I’m still feeling under the weather don’t worry_

and akira saying 

_oh i’ll come round in an hour with some curry for you!  
homemade meals always help!_

No no no

No

_NONONONO_

  
  
  
  


_It’s fine_

he replied, fingers shaking and leaving red, sticky smears over his phone’s screen

_its fine it’s all fine_

he typed

_fine fine fi ne_

_nf eifn e_

_fneifinen_

_f e_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Goro woke up in his apartment. 

His hands tightly gripped the sheets under him, his chest heaving as he stared up at his ceiling. There was sunlight filtering through the crack of his curtains. 

_morning?_

He slowly relaxed his hands, uncurling one finger at a time, until his palms were pressed flat against the bed. They hurt. Sharp, throbbing pain, fabric of his sheets sticking to his skin. He sat up and lifted his hands. 

Ugly reddish brown, ragged, messy lines carved on his palms and down his arms. 

The bed looked like a murder scene. 

His phone blinked its notification light innocently.

The screen had dried blood on it. 

Goro thought of last night

_how many days ago was it?_

to shaking fingers and cold terror _(loki)_ clenching his throat, of his mind spiralling apart and the need to escape, the realisation of his sense of self being carved up and devoured and

Goro picked up his phone. He scratched off the dried blood with a stained fingernail enough to learn that it was eleven in the morning 

_(his alarm just went off, though, didn’t it? 7am?_

he checked. the alarm was set for 7am

_but it went off just now?_

_where did those hours go?)_

and he had three missed call from Akira and several messages: 

**Joker+Crow  
** **09:11am**

**MISSED CALL [09:11]**

**Joker:** hey are you feeling any better today?  
**Joker:** you sounded kinda out of it last night  
**Joker:** cold meds must’ve been strong

**MISSED CALL [09:30]**

**Joker:** let me know if you need me to come round with some food and coffee! 

**MISSED CALL [10:12]**

**Joker:** goro?

food and coffee- 

Goro remembered Joker appearing at his apartment, with the tupperware and the thermos, and he remembered him sprawled over the kotatsu as the knife was driven between his ribs

_that didn’t happen_

of course not

right

right?

Goro typed something 

_(i’m still feeling a bit unwell_

_but i’ll be fine_

_im not fine im not fine im no tno tnot ntonto)_

and got out of bed. A knife tumbled out from amongst the sheets and onto the floor, its edge rusty brown and the handle mottled with dark stains, and Goro stooped to pick it up. The weight of it pressed against cuts and they stung, but the pain grounded him as he walked to 

_kitchen?_

_bathroom_

_mother did it in the bathroom_

Goro dropped the knife like he’d been scalded, recoiling away and hitting the wall, sliding down when he realised- 

_realised_

His mind teetered, cowering from the knife on the floor and the looming doorway of the bathroom. He felt like something had gently threaded fish hooks into every vein in his body, yanking him in a thousand different directions - the realisation, the knowledge, the out is there, in front of him, easily grasped in a bleeding palm and 

_(it’s messy though isn’t it_

_what if akira found-)_

Goro breathed. 

He kept breathing 

breathing. 

breathing

and  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“- _god,_ Goro, please say something, _please_ -”  
  
  
  
  
  


false reality clicked back into place. 

Akira’s hands grasped his arms, had them turned so the forearms were facing up: ugly, marred with too shallow cuts, jagged edges, like he had placed the knife only for something to violently rip his hand away before he could commit, over and over again, up and down his arms and onto his palms, over and over again 

_(in haze of last night_

_few days?_

_weeks?_

_he remembered the white knuckled grip and determination to_

_what?_

_end it?_

_but the perfect day had to continue, even as_

_Goro’s insides screamed_

_a madly thrashing beast in his ever shrinking cage_

_please please please please_

_I need to escape i need to escape_

_before i lose who i am i can’t be like sumire_

_i need to get out please please please_

_)_

“Akira.”

“Fuck,” Akira said, and the hands moved from his forearms to his cheeks. 

Akira’s fingers felt a little sticky. 

Some of his cuts were still bleeding. 

“Goro, _what the fuck is this?_ ” Akira asked harshly, his voice taut and breathless and his face pale. He looked like he’d been crying, his bottom lip reddened from being bitten too many times, his cheeks damp and his hands shaking where they cupped his face. 

_it’s an attempted suicide, obviously,_

idiot

“I’m unhappy in this reality,” Goro said, remembering saying those words before. Had he? Or had that been in one of his dreams - delusions-

aborted paths?

it was possible those things happened, but they didn’t, 

so

the reality overwrote and

was that possible?

_the days have to be perfect_

Goro’s fingernails were caught under the edge of Maruki’s reality, warping that singular truth. All he needed was to _yank_ and its veneer would be torn off. He’d expose the shoddy workings underneath, the fragile contradictory truth, and shatter them both out of this trap. He could do it. He needed to just-

_the way out is through akira_

“You’re - unhappy,” Akira repeated. 

Goro could see the cognitive wheels spin behind those grey eyes, the thought of - unhappy? Impossible. Akira gave up everything, their freedom and choices and reality, just so Goro could be alive and happy. 

_this happened before_

“Is…” Akira’s throat bobbed when he swallowed. One hand moved from Goro’s cheek to his chest, resting above his heart, fingertips brushing the base of his neck, where Loki’s ring of bruises had blossomed into a sick pattern of greens and blues, “Is there something missing?”

“Reality,” Goro said, “Freedom.” 

this whole paradise is fake

“Myself,” Goro continued, “I’m losing myself here.”

Akira couldn’t be blind to it, could he?

The thought spawned, the thought

_what if_

_akira wanted this?_

“But you’re,” Akira looked lost, “supposed to be happy.”

_(fool)_

“You forgot my promise,” Goro said, and

“You betrayed my wishes.”

Akira’s eyes were wide. He looked stricken. 

_(please akira)_

_“Stop giving in.”_

Goro’s hands were fisted in his shirt, ignoring the sting in his fingers. In the reflective lens of Akira’s glasses, he could see his face - golden eyes, bright and frantic and desperate - animalistic, cornered shadow, aching and writhing and snapping in its bonds as thin and cutting as fishing wire

gold eyes

recalled vaguely

Isshiki’s research of

_persona are merely tamed shadows_

_hypothesised, in isshiki’s research_

_as well as information ‘obtained’ from kirijo_

_and can revert,_

**_if an internal contradiction forms._ **

“This place is killing me.”

“Goro, I-”

“It’s killing us both.”

the perfect day was now impossible  
  


finally

  
  
  
  
  
  


the false reality cracked.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Goro woke up in-

not. 

his apartment. 

The break in routine stunned him in a way the violent delusions hadn’t. He stared up at the familiar rafters of Akira’s attic, fingers clenching into the cheap duvet of Akira’s bed as a cool, nighttime breeze wafted through the open window. He had no recollection of coming here. 

His brain felt like it had been blendered. 

Tiny details trickled in: his throat still hurt, the stinging pain of cut palms and arms prickled through his nerves like a steady troop of fire ants biting a burning path. He didn’t understand what it meant, this abrupt break in routine - he woke up in Akira’s attic. That wasn’t- the routine. 

_am i finally...?_

“Goro?”

He flinched at the breathy whisper of his name, and he shifted his head to see Akira sitting up on the sofa. He looked like he’d been asleep. 

“Akira,” he replied, his voice hoarse. 

Akira was up in an instant, almost tripping over his feet in his rush to kneel at his side. He looked pale, nauseously so, and there was a smudge of dark brown on his cheek - blood, forgotten about. 

“You- feeling okay?” Akira asked with unusual timidness, his hands hovering but not quite touching Goro’s arm, “You wouldn’t stop- you… I didn’t know what to…”

“You…” Goro’s throat felt like sandpaper. He stopped, swallowing thickly, and tried again; “You know what to do.”

“It’s too late,” Akira said miserably, “Isn’t it?”

“No.”

Goro struggled upright, hissing when Akira moved to help him. 

“It’s _never_ too late,” Goro spat. His eyes felt like they were burning, grains of sand caught behind his eyelids, but he had never seen more clearly in his life, “We can still break free from this pathetic illusion.”

“But…” Akira looked up at him, his fingers curled into the bedsheets, white knuckled and trembling, “If we do, you might die.”

“This place is killing me anyway,” Goro said, “What happened to Sumire is happening to me.”

He saw it so clearly now. It was as if his attempted suicide had rebooted his brain - how long this clarity will last, he didn’t know, but he could feel - heat, bubbling and potent; _Loki,_ writhing in his chest cavity, his eyes burning, tipping on the cusp of _something._ He was no longer giving in, he was still _himself_ for this moment, and his flame of rebellion demanded he act _now_ , before Paradise’s steel trap swung down on his psyche and shattered it completely. 

Akira stared at him. 

“What do you mean…?” he asked, but Goro saw through him. There was a tinge of guilt in his eyes, uncertain suspicions being unpleasantly confirmed, and Goro-

Goro was-

Goro was _furious._

“You _knew,”_ he snarled, his aching fingers finding Akira’s shirt collar, clutching tight at it with a growing need to _throttle,_ “You _knew_ that sick bastard was _screwing_ with me!”

“I-I didn’t,” Akira protested, but it was weak and he wouldn’t meet his eyes, “I just noticed you seemed - different, lately, and-”

“And you just sat back and did nothing?!” 

Akira stayed silent. 

The noise that left Goro couldn’t be called human - it was too raw and betrayed. His other half, the only other person to understand him, sat back and _did_ _nothing_ as Paradise carved and sloughed off chunks of him to make him fit some imaginary role. Had it all been a lie from the beginning? From the very, very, very beginning? 

**_(how… could he…?_** )

“You did… _nothing?”_ Goro repeated, his voice cracking right through the middle. His hands shook, and Loki was a heavy, molten weight on his heart - a confirmation that betrayal was all he will ever experience in this world. It was only himself that he could truly rely on in this rotten life.

“I’m sorry,” Akira whispered.

Goro stared at him. Stared at Akira, kneeling at his bedside, his head slightly bowed and unable to meet his gaze, Goro’s hands clenched tight in his shirt collar. Some of his cuts had reopened, staining the fabric pink and red in parts. The hatred he felt then was so agonising it was if he had been speared through the heart there and then.

“You traitor,” Goro hissed, “You _backstabbing_ piece of _shit_ -!”

He went for the throat. 

The rage he felt blinded him - he barely knew what he was doing. He wanted to scream, to break and snap whatever his hands landed on. Lunging for Akira, both of them tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs and snarled, heartbroken curses - he barely recalled any of it. He didn’t realise he was losing until Akira wrestled him underneath his body, his lip cut from where Goro’s fist had caught him.

“You fucker!” he rasped, uselessly kicking his legs as Akira sat on his stomach and pinned his wrists high above his head, _“You selfish **bastard**!”_

“Goro, please stop-” Akira tried, not budging.

 _“SHUT UP!”_ Goro screamed. He could barely see. Everything was too blurry. His eyes kept burning, “S-Shut up! You- you’re just like everyone else! You don’t care about _me_! You never did!”

“I care-!”

“You sat back and watched this false reality try to _lobotomise me!”_ Goro snarled. His cheeks felt wet, “A-And I almost let it happen for you! To become _someone_ _that isn’t me,_ just for you!”

Akira said nothing. He was a dark smear in Goro’s vision; a stranger. 

It was hard to breathe, lungs stuttering as air tried to push through the burning lump in Goro’s throat. He was angry - this is _rage_ he told himself, but it wasn’t. It was the same, gutting heartbreak from when he found his mother lying motionless in a bathtub filled with pink water, a phantom sensation of clawed hands burying into his guts and ripping out handfuls of viscera. It was a pain he had told himself he’d never feel again. 

“You never wanted me either,” he choked out.

and at this revelation, everything

everything inside of him

everything inside of him crumpled.

“ _Shit-”_ Akira let go of his wrists like he’d been scalded, his hands fluttering uselessly like he wanted to wipe away the tears while knowing his touch would be unwelcomed, “Goro, no, no, _please_ , don’t cry-”

“D-Don’t tell me- _don’t tell me what to do!_ ” Goro snapped, his voice all pathetic and wobbling, hating himself, hating Akira, hating this whole fucking _reality,_ reduced to snivelling like a wretched little worm all because he stupidly let this _selfish bastard_ in. Fucking idiot. He was a fucking _idiot._

Goro hid his face behind his hands, gulping in shuddering breaths, not bothering to move from his limp sprawl under Akira. His tears stung his cut palms and he clung to this agonising grief and rage like a drowning man at sea. So long as he felt this, it was real, this was all real.

Nothing was said for a long, long moment.

“...I knew something was wrong,” Akira admitted in a soft voice, “But I didn’t want to admit it.”

“ _Liar,”_ Goro hiccuped. 

“I’m not…” Akira sighed, sounding very, very tired, “I’m not lying. I just… I wanted you to be happy and, and it looked like you _were_ , so…”

 _It was all a lie,_ Goro realised bitterly, _for both of us._

“I should have listened to you,” Akira said in a very small voice, nothing like the confident Joker, nothing like the grimly determined man who told him they were going to accept Maruki’s reality. It was just Akira, who realised he had fucked up and was stuck in a shitty corner with Goro. 

Goro sniffled, clumsily wiping his face with the back of his hand and sat up. Akira quickly shuffled back, until they were both sitting on the floor, equally crushed beneath the weight of their shared consequences. There was a strange tension in the air, like they were both teetering on an edge where the bottom couldn’t be seen. 

Akira peeked at him uncertainly; “Goro, I-”

Downstairs, the doorbell jingled.

Akira went rigid, which confused Goro for a moment - Sojiro had a customer, so what? - before his brain kicked into high-gear: it’s nighttime. In summer. Late. The cafe should be shut and locked up by now. No sooner had these series of sluggish realisations dawned, an unpleasantly familiar voice called up: 

“Hello? I hope I’m not interrupting?”

_Maruki._

Goro couldn’t explain the sudden emotion that overcame him. It was hatred, a close, intimate friend, but also something sharper and deeper, scrambling at his insides and sending every inch of him trembling - fear, this was _terror_ , far beyond conscious thought as inside, Loki squirmed and gnashed its fangs in anticipation for _invasion,_ for a benevolent, gentle hand to prise into him and pluck out the bad thoughts and unpleasant edges and- 

“Don’t,” he said, barely hearing himself, “Let him in.”

“He’s already here,” Akira said, sounding pained, “We may as well see what he wants.”

Easy for someone who hadn’t been fending off lobotomy attempts for god knows how long. Goro wasn’t a coward, however, so he got to his feet, hating how his knees shook, everything gaining a strange, floating feeling as battle-instinct kicked into a thundering beat in his chest. This time- he won’t give in. He won’t allow himself to give in. He will not wake up in his apartment again, disorientated and confused, chunks of memory gouged out of his mind. This time-

This time. 

They went downstairs, and Maruki was there with a ridiculous flat cap on and a brown coat, having the gall to look apologetic. 

“Sorry for the late night visit,” Maruki said, his gaze lingering on Goro who stayed behind Akira, “But I sensed an emergency that needed a personal visit.”

“There’s no emergency,” Akira said quickly, everything about him taut. He had his hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched, but he was too still, too on edge, for it to be natural. 

Maruki silently looked at Goro - at his _arm,_ where the scabbed over cuts were visible in the soft lighting of Leblanc. 

Goro hid his arm behind him, his pulse roaring in his ears as he bared his teeth.

“ _You_ caused that,” he accused, his rage flaring when Maruki looked fucking _sad_ and _guilty_ at that - who gave him the right?! “Don’t you _dare_ pretend to feel guilty!”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Maruki said pathetically, doffing his cap and wringing it between his hands, “You were just so angry and sad all the time, I tried to fix-”

“ _You tried to break me!”_ Goro snarled, shoving past Akira - almost sending him sprawling over the nearby booth - but his vision was red, thundering scarlet, Loki rattling the bars of his cage, begging to be let loose on this fucking _monster;_ “To turn me into someone I’m _not_ to fit your pathetic idea of what _our relationship_ should be!”

“Goro,” Akira said quickly, recovering from Goro’s charge, “Wait-”

Goro couldn’t hear him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run at this man and claw at his face and rend him apart with his fucking _fingernails_ -

“I _barely knew_ where I was half the time!” he hissed, “My own Persona tried to _kill_ me!”

“ _What_?” Akira turned on Maruki, alarmed, “You tried to-”

“That wasn’t me!” Maruki defended himself, hands raised, “Some scars run too deeply to heal, and someone like Akechi… you’re incredibly strong and independent, and your Persona reflects that. So, when I attempted to use my Actualisation to take away your pain, it reacted negatively to that…”

“Because it wasn’t Goro anymore,” Akira finished, sounding disturbed, “You went that far…?”

“But, that was my mistake,” Maruki said, bowing his head in shame, “I approached it too gently. Your Persona is unlike Kasumi’s-”

“ _Sumire,”_ Goro gritted out, “That’s the name of the girl you mentally destroyed.”

A tense silence fell between them. Akira was on edge, looking like he wasn’t sure which way the threat was going to come from. Maruki was frowning, giving Goro a hurt look like _he_ was the unreasonably cruel monster here. 

“She’s happy now,” Maruki insisted.

“She’s _dead,_ ” Goro growled, “Everything she was, you replaced with _your_ idea of who she wanted to be. And now you’re trying to do the same to me by fucking torturing me into insanity.”

“The procedure is painless and easy,” Maruki said, something firming in his expression and tone, “But you’re an exceptional individual, Akechi, and I should’ve taken that into account. I’m sorry I botched it so badly before, but this time I’ll do it correctly.”

 **This time.**

“This time?” Akira repeated. 

Goro felt like his heart was plunged into a pool of freezing water. He saw where this was going instantly.

“No,” he said, “No.” 

“It’s painless,” Maruki insisted, “And you’ll be happier.”

Goro didn’t care if was fucking orgasmic, he was _not_ going to let this _thing_ claw out his very self and put an alien in his own mind, his own skin. He may be fucking broken, but it was _his_ pain, born from _his_ perception and memories and experiences! He wasn’t trading that in to be some doe-eyed, empty puppet dancing on the ends of Maruki’s strings! 

“You can’t make me _happy_ by erasing who I am!” Goro snarled even as he cowered. There was no point in running in this fucking fish bowl when the man controlled every aspect of it, “I’d rather fucking _die_!”

Maruki had the gall to look at him pityingly, “Akechi-kun… it’s alright. I’m going to make it right.”

Goro had never been so terrified in his life. 

Akira pushed past him, squarely standing between him and Maruki. Goro didn’t have it in him to be indignant, fisting a hand into the back of Akira’s shirt, unsure of what he planned to do. Could they even _fight_ Maruki now? Would he turn both of them into unthinking puppets for the ‘crime’ of attacking him? 

Loki was so close to the surface his face itched, like his mask was trying to bubble into flames right there. 

_mementos. reality has merged with mementos._

Which meant… 

“You’re _not_ touching him,” Akira said. His voice was quiet, but there was an iron ring to it that brooked no dissent, “He’s fine as he is.”

“He tried to kill himself,” Maruki said sadly, “His pain is that intense that he wants to die. Are you willing to let him suffer, just because he’s too frightened to seek help?”

“It’s his choice, not ours,” Akira said stubbornly. 

_where was this spine back in february?_ something inside of Goro sneered. 

“Trying to take away his pain without understanding it would kill him,” Akira’s head bowed slightly, “He wouldn’t be _Goro_ anymore.”

Maruki said nothing.

The silence that crept over them was as thick and cloying as oozing tar. Goro felt uncomfortably hot, breathing uneven and hand shaking where it was twisted into the back of Akira’s shirt, his eyes still burning. Something behind the scenes was pulling taut, a pressure point in the false reality, and right now he and Akira were pushing against it full force. Something was going to give. Something _was_ giving way. 

Akira was as still and resolute as a statue, his body heat hot against his hand. Goro could feel reality ripple around them, unable to find a hook, unable to accommodate their desires and wants. Goro inched closer, until he was right up against Akira’s back, bracing, ready, waiting-

Maruki sighed, “So, that’s your decision then.” 

the false reality cracked a little more.

“Akira,” Goro said, softly, “Don’t you _dare_ falter now.”

“He only exists here,” Maruki said sadly, “Don’t be reckless. You’ll lose him forever if you defy this reality.” 

Akira said nothing. His breathing was audibly choppy. Goro could feel him shake against him. 

_(the way out is through akira)_

“You’ll lose me no matter what,” Goro snarled, close enough that he could bury his nose into Akira’s hair if he wanted. He didn’t, “Let me die as _myself_ at least.”

“Akira,” Maruki warned. 

it cracked a little more.

“ _God,”_ Akira rasped, voice taut with anguish. 

a little more.

“Akira,” Goro murmured, and gently touched his forehead to Akira’s vulnerable nape, “Please.”

and more.

"If you love him," Maruki tried, once more exposing how little he understood them both, "Wouldn't you want him happy and safe?"

and more.

Akira sucked in a deep, trembling breath, almost choking on a pained laugh.

and more.

“I fucking hate you, Goro,” Akira whispered.

and done.

“I know,” Goro said, and kissed Akira’s neck, “Now kill me for it.”

Maruki’s eyes widened when he realised they both slipped his leash, but it was too late. Goro saw perfectly now, and so did Akira, and their grief and pain was too thorny and potent for Paradise to soothe and wipe away. The false reality wobbled around them, distorting like an unstable Palace, a high-pitched ringing screeching and overwhelming everything-

Blue flames erupted into life as the undulating tentacles of Maruki’s false Paradise burst from the shadows, to remove (assimilate) the rogue elements and convert them into what they thought was _right_. He saw them behind the red visor of his mask, heavy and scalding and sticking to raw skin-

Goro’s fingers scrambled for his mask’s edges and _tore-_

Akira’s fingers scrambled for his mask’s edges and _tore-_

_“Arsene!”_

**_“Loki!”_ **

Like the very first awakening, it hurt.

Every day had to be perfect, but in this, the false reality stalled. Too many contradictions, dividing by zero, Maruki’s will crashing against the combined efforts of Goro and Akira - it broke like foaming waves against unrelenting stone. The wildcards blazed free, and it tore down everything with it.

_...beep..._  
  
  
  


reality quivered 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_...beep…_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


and smashed to pieces into oblivion. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_...BEEP..._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_...beep… beep… beep…_

  
  
  
  
  
  


Goro woke up. 

  
  
  


He woke up to a white, foreign ceiling. He woke up feeling brittle down to his very bones. He woke up almost choking around an intrusion rammed down his throat, fingers twitching against the instinctive need to touch his face. An insistent beeping, steady yet picking up speed, assailed him. 

where 

where

where

His memories slipped through his fingers like loose sand. It took herculean effort to turn his head, a fraction, blurry vision seeing: heart monitor, IV drip, white curtain, handcuff around his wrist to the bed - even if there was no way he was getting up as he was. 

hospital…?

handcuff... arrested?

was this… reality…?

 _“... the trial of Masoyoshi Shido has been adjourned until the end of October, after several weeks of intense investigation,”_ a distant, fuzzy voice murmured in the background, a television, _“The prosecution is awaiting the recovery of a key witness who thus far has remained anonymous due to concerns of retaliation…”_

Key witness?

Goro absorbed this slowly, clarity still evading his clumsy fingers. His chest ached, in that flat, distant way that spoke of an unbearable agony cushioned beneath several milligrams of morphine. The hissing, artificial smell was an oxygen mask, he realised belatedly. A machine was breathing for him. 

_...beep…_

So, Maruki had been lying after all. 

_...beep…_

He hadn’t died. He’d been… in a coma…?

_...beep…_

Hah. That was too funny. 

_“And now, onto the weather!”_

Akira probably didn’t know.

_“Today is clear with heavy humidity.”_

Goro closed his eyes.

_“However, dark cloud cover will arrive in the late evening,”_

That was fine.

_“Bringing heavy rains and thunderstorms.”_

They’ll find each other again.

_“But the skies will clear by tomorrow,_

Just not right now.

  
  
  
  


_“And give us a perfect day!”_

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a minibang the 21+ akeshuake discord server arranged! Please check out the collection to read some incredible fics from equally incredible authors (and shout out to crimes for organising this whole thing!) 
> 
> This fic was really fun to do, and allowed me to try out smth experimental with formatting and writing style to try and convey a lot of unease and confusion, which I hoped worked without being too nonsensical lmao I drew heavy inspiration from Perfect Blue, an amazing film that I highly recommend if you haven't seen it, and peppered two references to it in my fic (the murder scene and the bloodied clothes in the bag scene). I really hope you guys enjoyed this! 
> 
> I was also paired up with the amazing impropercorvus on twitter! Please check out their amazing collab art [here!](https://twitter.com/impropercorvus/status/1304531977459171328)~


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